Hygge time again

I’ve just got back from walking the dog and am happily ensconced with a cup of tea on the sofa wrapped in a warm and generously proportioned jumper. I may not have an open fire crackling in the grate but it feels like I have, I’m so comfy. I have to stop myself from getting up to put another log on the imaginary fire. This is my English version of hygge with knobs on, and I love it.

It’s a soul-wrenchingly beautiful autumn morning out there, so beautiful that I have to have a sit down to recover. I love these autumn days as the year is dying. To be out there where the colours are so vivid and the air is crisp but slightly misty in the mornings. The grass is wet and the dew is still hanging in the spider webs among the teasels. The sun is struggling to stay out before the grey clouds win the battle and the day becomes dull and damp. It won’t be long before the weather turns foul, if you can believe the forecast.

Once again I feel a rush of gratitude to my dog for existing and giving me a reason for getting out in the early morning.

I have to go out later this morning in the wild wet weather, but I’m well prepared. Thanks to Lola, Kate’s dog, eating my coat last week it’s been replaced by a far superior one I found in a sale at the weekend. It’s great, a proper dog-walking-in-all weathers sort of coat. So, bring it on! It only makes coming home more pleasurable.

Cats vs Cucumbers, or ...Four mad dogs and a grandson.

This is about a day spent babysitting one grandson (as above) and four lively dogs (see below).

Archie ‘the devil I know’

Sam 'I'll be your shadow'

Elmo ‘The Lookout’

Lola ‘Butter wouldn’t melt…’

When my daughter Kate asked me if I could babysit for her again one day this half term while she went to work I was happy to say yes. For one thing, I knew I would get a good spicy dinner out of it. As she lives a good 50 minutes drive away, more if you add in rush hour traffic, I would go there on Sunday afternoon in order to be on the spot on Monday morning. To make it an even better deal, she offered to pick me up on Sunday and take me home after work on Monday. Suits me!

I thought what a good idea it would be to take Archie with me. What fun it would be for him. He gets so bored being an Only Dog. This would provide him with some Pack experience, because Kate has not one dog but two, and sometimes (as this time) three when she looks after her fiancé’s lively dog as well.

So, Kate rocked up on Sunday afternoon with a car boot full of dogs. We quickly added Archie to the mix and loading me and my bags on board we set off.

In the morning the dogs woke up early ready for breakfast and a lively day chasing each other around the house. Every so often Sam or Lola, sometimes both, would insist on lying all over me for a rest. Archie was relegated to a blanket on the floor. Elmo kept watch at the window while the others got their breath back. Then off they all went again.

My grandson James fortunately wasn’t quite as lively as the dogs, at least not during the morning. He was happy to play some sort of golf game on his iPad and talk to me about it. I like to listen, so we were both happy. Mid-morning, we got ourselves a snack and drink and the dogs amused themselves continuing to establish the pecking order and belting round the house like mad. Elmo, the small one with a Napoleon complex, had obviously decided that he is Top Dog and also that it is up to him to keep a look out. Stationing himself from time to time at a bedroom window, he barked at the slightest provocation and all the others joined in dutifully. We were downstairs so didn’t care. Archie had to learn to take orders from the Top Dog.

It was a pleasant morning finding out stuff I didn’t know. Amazing how much you can learn from your grandchildren! This is where Cats vs Cucumbers comes into it. James, taking a short break from talking about golf, brought me up to speed on the subject. Apparently, would you believe, lots of people have tried to see how their cats react to an unexpected cucumber. A cucumber is placed near a cat when it’s not looking, then when it notices it the reaction is filmed and shared on YouTube. And believe me, sometimes the reaction is well worth a look! Some cats don’t react much or ignore it. Other cats are completely spooked and leap yowling into the air. Somebody has collected these videos and put them together, keeping score. Cucumbers were definitely winning as far as I could see. I am deeply indebted to James for showing me this and I intend to buy a cucumber as soon as possible and try it out on our cat. My hunch is that he will ignore it.

Anyway, back to babysitting.

At lunchtime Kate came back for a short break and we took the dogs for a rather hectic walk in the woods nearby.

During the afternoon James got livelier and the dogs quietened down a bit. After a nail biting time watching James play indoor golf with a thin branch and a real golf ball, I thought I’d take a quick photo of all the dogs napping companionably together upstairs. It wasn’t until after I’d snapped Lola sleeping and I was editing the picture that I realised she was sleeping on my new coat. Having hefted her off it I discovered she’d actually been eating it and had chewed holes in the area of the pocket I usually put dog treats in. Typical beagle. Very food motivated. I should have known better than to leave the coat where she could get it. That dog could even tell from a distance when I was going into the kitchen. Very impressive!

Now I'm just waiting for an opportunity to use the excuse ' Sorry I can't..... the dog ate my coat'

Kate got home from work just in time to stop James dying of boredom. I’m not a very exciting sort of Nana really, but at least I didn’t stop the indoor golf and no windows/vases/bones were broken. Well, I had a good time anyway and Archie had enough fun and excitement to last a month at least.

Now I’m off to buy a cucumber…

I may not have done it if I'd known how hard it was going to be...

Bit of a scary picture...

Many years ago as a young housewife I used to read social history books, and wondered what mothers used to do when their children became ill before the advent of the NHS, especially if they couldn’t afford the services of a doctor. I came across accounts of women using blackberry leaves, elderberries, Chamomile flowers, vinegar and brown paper.

Where, I wondered, could I find out how to make some of these interesting remedies, and if I did make them would they work? I looked in my local newspapers for day courses or ‘herbal weekends’, but as this was before the days of social media and my laptop, I found nothing. All I really wanted was somebody to show me how to make stuff like Rosemary infused oil, and tell me why and how I should use it. Or how to go about growing, harvesting and drying Chamomile flowers to make my own tea.

A year or two later I was listening to a radio interview with a herbalist, and he was being asked questions about training, and about herbs as medicine. Herbs were a part of a proper system of medicine? In the 20^th Century? It appeared that they were, and that this man had learnt all about them and had a medical practice where he saw patients, prescribed medicine and helped them get better. As my hands were wrist deep in the kitchen sink I couldn’t write down his name or contact details, but my interest was piqued.

A short time after this I was leafing through a glossy women’s magazine when I came across a piece on complementary therapies. The point of the article was to reveal how women who had been chronically sick had invested time and money in certain therapies and recovered. Among these women was one who had been ill for years and in the end all the doctors could do was to keep her on steroids. In desperation she visited a medical herbalist and within about 6 months she was better. So impressed was she with the approach and treatment and lack of side effects that she decided to train as a Medical Herbalist herself, and bless her, she gave the contact details of NIMH, an organisation of which I had never heard…

I was on the phone the very next day. I signed up. Instead of the few weekends or the day course that I had originally looked for, I committed myself to 6 years of training. I didn’t just study the herbs themselves [marvellous and wondrous things that they are] but to practice safely and effectively I also had to study the same subjects a GP would have to do: Anatomy & Physiology, Medical Microbiology, Immunology, Embryology, Histology, Pathology, Pharmacology, Clinical Medicine, Clinical Examination Skills, Biochemistry, Differential Diagnosis and Case History taking to make sure I understood what was going on in the body and the disease process. To that was added Pharmacognosy, Botany, Pharmacy, Herbal Therapeutics, Materia Medica, History of Herbal Medicine, Public Health and the patient relationship.

This training was invaluable, as it produced practitioners who not only knew about herbs and their actions but also about disease processes within the human body, about contraindications and red flags, how to examine a patients – to palpate, auscultate, use an ophthalmoscope and otoscope, take blood pressure and urine samples, interpret blood test results and give lifestyle and dietary advice.

I now run a private clinic where I see patients, and I tutor students who want to become professional practitioners at the School of Herbal Medicine. These students have the same vision as I had – to use medicinal plants to bring people back to health where possible without exposing them to factory-made chemical drugs which so often cause as many problems within the body as they try to solve.

Herbs are powerful agents of healing; they need not be confined to the home treatment of minor conditions, but to use them within an effective and safe system of medical care a certain amount of training must be undertaken. The use of herbs within such a system of medicine has been protected through the work of agencies like The National Institute of Herbal Medicine. If you are interested in the training to become a professional practitioner then NIMH have details on their website.

www.schoolofherbalmedicine.co.uk

info@theschoolofherbalmedicine.co.uk

www.nimh.org

https://theschoolofherbalmedicine.wordpress.com/ 

https://www.facebook.com/TheSchoolofHerbalMedicine/

I may regret this...

I was leafing through a women’s magazine at work the other day (it’s OK, I’m allowed to) and came across an article about older women who continue in paid work beyond retirement age. By the way, I’m getting tired of being fed the idea that it’s brilliant to work until you drop. OK if your job is something you love to do and you have the health and mental wellness to do it. Not so great if it’s something you have to do and it’s exhausting and/or boring. I suspect there's a collusion between the government and the media, a subtle campaign to sell the idea of retirement at 70 – or whatever age they want to push it to – in order to avert a revolution. Anyway, I digress…

One of the people featured in this article was a woman aged around 70 I think, who was still working as a fashion model. Good for her if that’s what she wants, but the thing that jumped out the page at me was her long grey hair which, not meaning to be unkind, I have to say was straggly. Taken together with the wrinkles it was not a look I felt I would like to copy. Now I’m not against owning up to wrinkles. Not much you can do to hide them even if you wanted to. No, they are a kind of badge of honour – aren’t they? But long thinning straggly grey hair?

So I took a long hard look in the mirror…

I’ve almost always had long hair, ever since I was 13 and felt mature enough to rebel against the hair cutting sessions Mum held in the kitchen. The family were lined up and sheared in age order, but at least Mum had a decent pair of hair cutting scissors. No kitchen shears or pudding basins were involved, I’ll give her that.

So, ever since that tender age it’s been long locks for me. Saggy and I had always wanted to walk in Loose Valley wearing (then unfashionably) long skirts and let our hair down to feel the wind blowing through it. But I digress again…

What I’m trying to say is this: having had a good long look in the mirror I had to admit that my hair is thinning somewhat, and although I quite liked the grey and white combo it’s turned, it looked a mess. Sadly I had to admit to myself that the days of lovely long locks flowing in the breeze were a thing of the past for me. Now, I know that long grey hair can look fabulous on some women, e.g. Saggy. But not me.

So, I’ve decided to go for something a lot shorter. It feels a bit weird and I may regret it by next week. I think it makes me look a bit more like the mad dog lady that I styled myself last year and a bit less like the mad photographer lady I was planning on becoming. Its already starting to look a mess again.

Never mind, maybe I’ll grow it out again…

This is no ordinary toilet....

I know what some of you are thinking; that this is indeed no ordinary toilet. It is a sub-standard toilet that you wouldn’t give house room to. 

And in many ways you would be right.

However, this toilet has an advantage which has brought it close to my heart.

It is in a field, in the middle of nowhere, in the Quantocks.

And it is the difference between me Going Camping and me Not Going Camping. It is a hidden gem in a Hideaway Site where Not Many People Camp because you have to be a member of the camping club and pay them money on a regular basis.

To be fair, most people camp now with caravans, and expect electrical hook-ups and a shower block and even a shop! These types of sites are fine for some people who also need to bring their laptops and TVs and microwaves and who just swap sitting at home on a sofa watching soaps, to sitting in a field on a sofa watching soaps.

 [Ouch, that sounds a bit harsh…]

But this isn’t my kind of camping at all. I like the grass under my feet and the wind in my hair, the fiddling with the Bunsen-burner type of cooker to magically produce pancakes which are eaten as the sun comes up and you hear and smell the cows in the next field. Where you fall asleep at night and can still hear the horses in the next field chewing grass. All this I love.

However, I may have waxed lyrical about the joys of camping, the meals cooked in the fresh air, the views, the flapping of canvas and the noise of opening zips, but – and it is a very big but – I will 100% refuse to go anywhere without some form of toilet facilities. I am not crouching behind a bush or digging holes or using dock leaves instead of toilet paper. I’m just not. This makes camping in the ‘away from it all’ places a bit complicated.

And so to find this field, which is flat, with a view, which is isolated, and has a fire pit with seating, and has its own toilet, with sink, hand soap, towel, toilet paper, toilet cleaner and brush and air freshener was, well, it was amazeballs.

I could tell you where this toilet is, but then it wouldn’t be a hidden gem…

It was going so well...

In the interests of improved health, increased energy, better sleep and general well-being I decided a few weeks ago to cut right down on my sugar intake. I was delighted with how well it was going.

No biscuits, no cake, no desserts, no sugar filled processed food… well, almost!

I allowed myself a dessert when we went out for a birthday dinner.

I've had one square of high quality chocolate very occasionally.

My son gave me a box of chocolates for my birthday two weeks ago and I have had ONE of them on two separate days. A Sunday treat. So proud of myself!

My sleep started to improve. I cut down on the painkillers I was taking. Not saying I’ve lost any weight though – I’m too cowardly to step on the scales and my clothes aren’t getting any looser yet.

Progress has been a bit slow, but I WAS getting there.

And then I went to a coffee morning. Not just any old coffee morning either. This was a fund raising charity Macmillan Coffee Morning run by a very talented cake maker and her equally talented cake making friends. You should have seen the cakes that were there! A table in the lounge groaned under its load of beautiful cupcakes packaged in their attractive boxes. In another room there were sponge cakes, chocolate cakes, you-name-it cakes…

Then there was this amazing lemon drizzle cake. It had our name on it because we had ordered it with deliberate gluttony aforethought….  

So the question is this ... is it OK to eat cake if its for charity? 

Long story short, although we bought two boxes of cupcakes I didn’t actually eat any of them. Iron willpower, eh! But the lemon drizzle was another matter.

To be honest, I can quite easily resist cakes with icing and stuff, but give me a good moist lemony drizzle cake and I have practically no willpower to get me past it. After the first couple of slices I had to whip the rest into the freezer before I demolished the lot.

The trouble is, once you fall off the wagon you start thinking along the lines of ‘in for a penny, in for a pound’ and ‘might as well be hung for a sheep as for a lamb’ etc. So after a careless couple of days of increased sugar intake one way and another, and paying the price health wise, I’m back on the wagon because I feel so much better that way.

What happened to the cupcakes if I didn’t eat them? Well, naturally  I spent a happy hour or two photographing them. It’s what I do.

Then we gave them away…

Knee-jerk-reaction camping food; and my downfall

So yes, we have gone back to camping. And we really, really enjoy it.
But...
In what I can only assume is a fear of literally starving whilst separated from my kitchen, larder and hob, we packed a large quantity of instant-junk-snack foods. Just in case. We had boxes filled with chocolate bars, biscuits, processed bread, jam, preserved meats, well-sugared Welsh cakes, crackers and cheese, and a fair quantity of alcohol and crisps.
It was what I can only explain as a knee-jerk-reaction to when we used to take our kids camping, bar the alcohol [no wait, I think we probably did take alcohol to be fair]. Kids cry, kids, argue, kids get bored - and the quickest way to bring peace used to be to feed them chocolate...
When we camped with kids, I used to be so busy changing nappies, quelling fights, and looking for lost toddlers that I didn't spend too much time on the al fresco menu. I remember it as chaos, but the kids seemed to like it.
Anyway, this last weekend I seemed to have reverted to 'this is the food we take camping' from over 20 years ago, and all I can say is after eating it I feel crap have got a headache. And we didn't even have a kid with us. The weather was great, the site was beautiful, I slept well and did not use a laptop or watch stuff on my phone. Not once. So all I can blame is the diet change.
As soon as I hit my kitchen I shuffled around making chamomile tea, simmering Crown Prince squash to add to sauteed organic onions and courgettes, with the freshly-picked mushrooms from our camp site, and home-grown parsley. So at least I feel morally better.
This camping-food-tide just has to turn. I am not going to take any junk food next time. I'm just not. I have my beloved Trangia, complete with the book that turned my heart that way; 'How to Eat Outside' by Genevieve Taylor. Though I could do with need more books, obviously. I've got my eye on 'Feast by Firelight' by Emma Frisch. I've dropped hints to my husband to buy it for me for Christmas. Actually, I've sent him the link on Amazon - so...
If anyone has any brilliant suggestions for fresh-food-eating while camping, I'm all ears.